


Concrete Feet

by sanidine



Series: Prompts & Kinkmeme Fills [3]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Community: twd_kinkmeme, First Time, Geographical Isolation, Incest, M/M, References to Drugs, Self-Esteem Issues, Sibling Incest, Underage Drinking, Unsafe Sex, old fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 10:44:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6467158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanidine/pseuds/sanidine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The summer that Daryl is fifteen, the cicadas swarm from the ground in a never-ending tide.</p><p>(Originally posted to twd_kinkmeme on 1-19-2012)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Concrete Feet

**Author's Note:**

> My Shame.
> 
> I don't remember for sure, but I think I got the title from 'Heavy in your Arms' by Florence and the Machine. I called this dubcon when I first wrote it because the sex isn't violent, but considering the circumstances it really is rapey.

The summer that Daryl is fifteen, the cicadas swarm from the ground in a never-ending tide. They carpet the forest floor and the roof of the trailer, clinging to the trees and leaving their transparent husks on the undersides of leaves. Daryl wakes one morning to the near-deafening sound of a billion tiny buzzsaws cutting through tin, and Merle tells him that it’s the seventeen-year brood after he’s stumbled into the kitchen, tired and confused. Their electricity got turned off the week before, so Merle just sits on the couch staring at the blank TV screen, drinking even though it’s only 9 a.m.  
  
The summer that Daryl is fifteen is the worst summer of his life. The hunting is shit and the fishing’s not much better, and even though Daryl isn’t fool enough to blame it on a bunch of bugs he figures that their ceaseless droning ain’t exactly helping the situation. It gets to the point where he can’t even stand to be in the woods, but woods is just about all there is around them so he’s stuck either hanging around the trailer or hiking into town since Merle refuses to let him have the keys to the truck. Merle’s “between jobs,” which really only means that he’s in between suppliers since Dan Hopper’s lab exploded not even a month before, and the trailer, which is usually a frequent stopping point for the county’s meth heads, is empty save for him and Merle. It’s hot and it’s humid and it’s boring and Merle is drunk almost all the time, but instead of winding up on Daryl like usual, Merle just looks at him with something unsettling in his eyes that Daryl isn’t sure he wants to understand.  
  
To Daryl’s annoyance, the cicadas practically never shut up, buzzing even at night and crawling up onto him and his mattress when the heat forces him to sleep outside on the porch. The days pass in a never-ending monotonous haze, glacier slow but murderously hot, as if time itself were somehow being distorted and confused. So the day that it happens doesn’t seem any different, in no way remarkable other than Daryl wrestles his shitty old ten-speed out from under the porch and goes to visit Mrs. Hill, the old widow who lives a half mile away and is their closest neighbor. She lets Daryl do chores for her in exchange for food, and while it irks Daryl that she’s so aware of his situation, Merle seems to have forgotten the necessity of eating. Daryl justifies it by telling himself that it’s not a handout, that he had to work for it, and taking secret relief in seeing another human being for the first time that week.  
  
Merle tells him that Dixons don’t need anybody but themselves and their blood kin, but sometimes Daryl wishes he had friends.  
  
He pedals down the gravel road back to the trailer, sweating and having to work at it since the tires are old and nearly flat. It probably would have just been easier to walk, but Daryl is stubborn. He waits until he reaches their bullet-hole ridden mailbox to hop off and walk the bike the rest of the way down the dusty driveway. Molted cicada husks crunch under his worn sneakers and the tires of his bike, and Daryl is so distracted by watching his own shoelaces that he almost doesn’t the silence until it is deafening. The seemingly ceaseless drone of the cicadas had stopped entirely, paused as if every bug in the forest were drawing breath at once, and the quiet felt heavy and alien after so much constant noise. Daryl looks up, not startled but close to it, and sees Merle watching him from the porch where he stands half out of the screen door, partially obscured by the afternoon shadows, face unreadable. The moment of silence holds as Merle stares at him, and Daryl begins to fidget, uncomfortable for reasons he can’t explain. But then the buzzing explodes around them again and Merle turns, letting the screen door slam behind him as he disappears back into the trailer.

Daryl doesn’t know where Merle got the money or even the motivation, but the first thing he notices once he reenters the trailer is that their power is back on. The bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling glow in the deepening dusk, and Merle has their old rabbit-eared TV turned to, of all things, Antiques Roadshow. Daryl tries to disappear into his room – attempting to stay quiet and out of Merle’s way is second nature to him – but Merle won’t let him, insisting that Daryl grab a couple of beers from the fridge and join him. The reason for the channel selection soon becomes apparent - Antiques Roadshow is running a special on Civil War items – but what Daryl doesn’t quite get is why Merle suddenly desires his presence after weeks of ignoring him completely. But he doesn’t complain. He sits on the ratty couch with his brother and drinks beer, grabbing more for them during the commercial breaks, until it is dark outside and Daryl has quite the buzz on, staring at the pile of empties at his feet. He doesn’t realize how close they’re sitting until Merle wraps a heavy arm around his shoulders and Daryl slumps against him. Merle chuckles deep in his chest, and Daryl feels warm in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol or the summer heat.  
  
Daryl knows that he fucks up a lot, that he isn’t good for much other than getting in the way, but he’s always tried hard to warrant Merle’s approval. Daryl loves his brother, and even though he knows it’s childish he can’t help but want Merle to like him too, to smile at him and spend time with him. So he doesn’t protest when Merle ‘s hands roam down his sides and pull him, roughly, to straddle his brother’s lap.  
  
His head spins at the sudden change, drunker than he thought, and he must have tried to say something because Merle is shushing him, running rough, calloused fingers under Daryl’s grimy t-shirt and over the tender skin of his ribs, tripping on old scars. The sensation is electric – much to Daryl’s shame, he’s never had anyone touch him like that. Then time skips through the haze of alcohol, and Daryl doesn’t know how he got naked but he is, knees still spread wide around his Merle’s hips. The TV is off and it’s quiet save for the cicadas buzzing outside and the sound of his own ragged breathing.  
  
This wasn’t how he had imagined this happening, during a hundred sessions with his own hand and only the memory of Delia Thompson’s low cut tops and cleavage (or how Joseph Carson’s hand had felt, the one time he had clapped Daryl on the back during PE) for jerk off fodder. He’d thought that his first time would be in the back of a truck or under the bleachers or in some girl’s room with posters of horses on the wall, but he’d never thought it would happen to him like this. Daryl’s only vaguely aware of Merle’s slick fingers tracing his entrance, even as he tries to squirm away, distracted by the thought that he had been stupid. Of course no one else would want him. Merle was the only one who really cared for him, gave him even the smallest bit of concern.  
  
Daryl’s distraction was shattered when Merle’s finger actually breached him, pushing inside that tight ring of muscle and _burning_. He cried out once, high and hurt, and again when Merle’s teeth fastened onto the thin skin of his collar bone. It was all too much, overwhelming him, and it wasn’t until Merle had two fingers in him that he realized it didn’t hurt that bad any more, that it was actually starting to feel good. This time, when Daryl cried out, it was less pained and more needy, and he was shocked at the sound of his own voice as he whimpered his brother’s name.

Waves of humiliation crashed through Daryl, but Merle didn’t seem to notice his younger brother’s arousal until he had withdrawn his fingers and begun to work his thick cock into Daryl.  
  
“You like it.” Merle mutters in his ear, hands tight on Daryl’s hips while he screwed into him. “Should have known.”  
  
Daryl blushes red, hot with shame, but whimpering and trembling at how good it feels to have Merle rocking inside of him. He knows it’s wrong, that he’s disgusting for letting his brother fuck him, take his virginity, and that he’s even more filthy for liking it, but he can’t help it. He’s hard, so hard, and his skin is on fire with the sensation, still part pain but even more pleasure. It feels too good. And then Merle is running his hand up Daryl’s ribs, nails scratching paths of red hot fire, and he tweaks one of Daryl’s nipples and it’s finally too much.  
  
Daryl shudders as he comes, cock untouched, clinging to Merle’s shoulders as the sensations overwhelm him. Merle slams his hips down a final time, completely inside of him, and Daryl clenches down around his dick, whimpering. He feels Merle pulse inside of him and realizes that he’s coming too, inside of him, that Daryl was good enough to make his brother come. Daryl isn’t sure if the thought makes him sick or satisfied, and he doesn’t have much time to consider his feelings on the matter before Merle is pushing him off, lurching up off the couch and making a beeline for the bathroom.  
  
Curled around himself on the couch’s scratchy surface, Daryl listens to Merle vomit into the toilet and feels his brother’s come start to drip out of him. It’s dark in the trailer and Daryl can’t see much, but he can feel the way he’s shaking as the sick reality of what just happened settles onto him. Outside, the din of the cicadas continues, unconcerned.

**Author's Note:**

> Original Prompt:  
> Daryl/Merle - first time together  
> maybe it's also Daryl's first time in general?
> 
> [tumblr ](http://www.bingitoff.Tumblr.com)  
>  


End file.
